


The glasses that gave the game away

by skriftlig



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skriftlig/pseuds/skriftlig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn. Just porn. You won't find plot here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The glasses that gave the game away

**Author's Note:**

> Written very hastily for the emergency Harry/Draco 'nothing can stop the porn' fest on Dreamwidth when LJ had a freak out last month. Prompt of 'Harry taking off his glasses' from the now famous Conan interview.

There are only four beds in the eighth year Slytherin dormitory. Draco claimed the one furthest from the door when he first arrived back at Hogwarts, which is why he's sprawled on his back on Blaise's.

Potter's writhing, half-naked body is on top of him, kissing him, touching him. His hands are inside Draco's robes, below his t-shirt, palms running over his chest. Draco's tongue is firmly in Potter's mouth, teeth grazing his bottom lip, as one of Potter's hands snakes below his trouser waistband. Draco can't help his back arching, pushing himself shamelessly into Potter's curled fingers.

Draco's fiddling with Potter's fucking stupid Muggle jeans buttons. He manages to twist them open, though his pinched fingertips sting from the effort. Potter reaches down with a hand and helps him tug the jeans down. There's a delightful bulge in Potter's tight boxers and Draco rubs his hand over it, relishing the groan Potter makes as he drags his nails up its growing length.

Then Potter's mouth drops to his neck, sucking and licking beneath his jaw, just hard enough that Draco will have to heal the marks there later. His hands are in Potter's hair and he grabs clumps, twisting his fingers in it, even as Potter's head moves lower. Potter kisses his clavicle and moves his lips down Draco's chest, tracing the long scar with his tongue.

His trousers and underwear are yanked off unceremoniously and Potter wastes no time in curling his fingers around Draco's free cock. It's already hard; it's been hard for the last excruciating half an hour of Potions.

Draco lies back down on the bed and Potter hurries to kneel between his legs. This is Potter's favourite position and, though Draco would never admit it, not yet at least, he loves the sight of Potter above him when they fuck. Wild black hair, sharp green eyes behind the ever-present glasses, and a mix of raw need and power that only Draco gets to see.

Potter pushes Draco's t-shirt up until it's bunched around his armpits and neck. His hands move back to Draco's arse, stroking his cock on the way. Potter summons the lube from the other side of the room and wriggles out of his boxers.

He slides a finger inside Draco, quickly followed by a second. They both know Draco doesn't need much preparation; they've been sneaking around the school for long enough to perfect the art.

Potter shifts on his knees and Draco feels his hips and thighs lifted off the bed to rest on Potter's legs. Draco rocks his hips towards Potter, urging him to hurry the bloody fuck up. Amazingly, Potter gets the hint and Draco feels something large and slick nudge his entrance.

There's a sound beyond the door and Potter freezes for a moment. Draco's heart is already thumping against his ribs and it beats furiously at the noise. Potter lifts a hand and Draco barely has time to register the surge of magic before Potter slams forward.

The pain shoots up his spine, down his legs, over his chest, chased by brilliant, white-hot pleasure as Draco is simultaneously stretched and filled. His cry is muffled by the hand Potter has over his mouth, but it's shut the people outside up at any rate. Potter takes his hand away, pulls out slightly and starts thrusting into him. He pushes in harder, deeper, stronger, settling into a rhythm that has Draco gasping with each stroke.

Draco clutches desperately at the bed, he needs something to hold on to, and his fingers curl instinctively in the bedclothes. His hips and thighs are tilted again and Potter's cock hits him at the fucking perfect angle.

There's yelling now, but Draco's doesn't know who's making it. Doesn't care. He hears his own moan over it though, as Potter's fingers dig into his hips. He knows he's close, knows the familiar throb of building tension. Potter's thrusting into him frantically now, all semblance of rhythm gone. Draco sees the dark green bed-hangings over Potter's head before his eyes unfocus and a hand clenches around his cock, squeezing his orgasm from him.

He blinks up at Potter. Potter's head is tipped back and Draco can see outlines of muscle in his throat, tensing and relaxing as he comes. Draco keeps watching; Potter swallows and takes deep breaths. The candlelight illuminates the stubble creeping under his square jaw and reflects blindingly off his ridiculous glasses.

There's a cry of Alohomora from outside and then the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.

Potter leaps away from him, hair sticking up everywhere and glasses teetering dangerously on the end of his nose. His wand is in his hand in an instant and clothes are flying towards his outstretched arms. He spins away just as the door bangs open.

Draco is back under the covers and there's silence as his three fellow Slytherins glare at him. It's Pansy who finally takes a step forward.

“Draco,” she says sweetly, eyes moving from the ground up to his face, “what are Harry Potter's glasses doing on our bedroom floor?”


End file.
